


3 A.M. (in the morning)

by SmokyCinnamonRoll



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2021-01-13 15:40:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21160052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmokyCinnamonRoll/pseuds/SmokyCinnamonRoll
Summary: (I return from the dead once again. And continue making that same joke.)(Also that title has probably been done so many times before but hey. it’s all I could think of.)(Too short for a story snippet, so — take whatever this is instead. I can’t summarize)Staying up late, for Pavel, is both not super helpful for getting things done, and for keeping a lid on all the shit that goes on in his mind.Unfortunately, that’s exactly what he’s doing





	3 A.M. (in the morning)

**Author's Note:**

> I’m gonna be honest it’s written weird partially because I had been watching a fuckton of hiveswap friendsim  
Still unable to tag this like a normal person despite it being my original work because the fandom,,,,,, does not exist. Probably a good thing, considering foreshadowing and all that and this counts as Important Backstory. (Sort of.)

Pasha shoved the open books to the side and buried his face in his hands.

He wouldn’t cry — couldn’t. (He’d read somewhere that crying was supposed to be good for you.)

“I’m getting better,” he mumbled, almost (almost) not giving a thought to how loud he sounded. Just his cat, just his cat.

“I’m getting better, dammit!” He yelled, picking up a pen and hurling it across the room. It hit his bookshelf with a very disappointing plasticy sound, and he sighed, opting to just forgo his hands and put his face on the table instead. (He wouldn’t cry.)

“I can’t do this. I can’t. It’s- I just—”  
He was absolutely fucking determined to not cry.  
And he was getting better! Really! Only the occasional urge to hurt himself for no reason, he was feeling happier more often, and he was actually pushing himself to learn more English, how to put things into words better. So, then, why?

Why was he like this? A sad, pathetic little lump of a human? Honestly, he felt more like a blob. Maybe a puddle. Just all around Not Great. 

Sometimes he couldn’t tell if he felt like he was going to be sick, or if he just really, really wanted to call up his knife and stab it into his wrist. Also, maybe it didn’t really help to go looking for stories and things about people with the same kind of issues as him. But he would do it anyways, in a desperate bid to understand more. Maybe why he felt this way.

A plus to being home with only his cat was that he could be as loud as he pleased, without having to worry. (Concerts also helped with that, but it’s not the point he was trying to make.)

His phone (not thrown) buzzed, and he looked at it. Who would text him at three in the-

Oh. Misha. Why was he awake?

**Author's Note:**

> Russian nicknames/diminutives are super fucking weird and I don’t get how to use them >:1  
You ever get the urge to throw something across the room, despite how much damage it will probably cause to both that something and whatever it hits? Pasha certainly does.  
tagging things is once again really hard. 1; it’s an original work! No names available. 2; what the Fuck is a “tag”  
no I’m not working on anything else why do you ask what unfinished things where  
(As a note about the summary— suffice to say that things are going on in his immediate friend group which may or may not be contributing to this. Maybe you’ll find out or maybe you won’t, depends on what I post.)


End file.
